


gordian knot

by redcapesarecoming



Category: Red Velvet (K-pop Band)
Genre: F/F, Inaccurate Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22878523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redcapesarecoming/pseuds/redcapesarecoming
Summary: When honor and freedom are at stake, what lengths will you go to for the one you love? This is the story of how the goddess of victory met her champion.This is the story of how the goddess of victory lost.
Relationships: Bae Joohyun | Irene/Son Seungwan | Wendy
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50





	1. joohyun

**Author's Note:**

> gordian knot  
> -a problem solvable only by bold action
> 
> inspired by @marchiarten's prompt on twt

“Wendy, I’m _dying_ ,” a grumbled whine echoes throughout Wendy’s apartment. “Your best friend is _dying_ ,” she presses her face down on her pillow. “ _Oh no_ , how will you survive when I’m _dead?_ ”

“You’re not dying,” Wendy replies, placing the hot bowl of soup on Irene’s bedside table. She fixes Irene’s blanket, fluffs up her pillows, and says, “I owe you too many favors, Irene. I’m not letting your dramatic ass die until I’ve repaid them. After that, I will let nature take its course,” she winks.

“But,” Irene sits up from her place on the bed. “I already see the light,” she says, caressing Wendy’s cheek. “It’s beautiful,” she whispers.

Wendy bites the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. She is in dangerous waters right now and she cannot really blame anyone but herself. Developing a crush on her best friend, no matter how small, is a ticking time bomb and tonight she can feel the seconds closing in.

“You really are sick,” she replies, her tone evidently lacking any bite in it. This seems to make Irene smile wider and Wendy’s eyes can’t help but linger on Irene’s teasing smile before she feels her face heat up. She quickly removes the feverish girl’s hand on her cheek and goes to leave her place on the bed. 

Irene stops her. “No, no, don’t go! I’m _very_ sick so _please_ take care of me,” she whines, grabbing a fistful of Wendy’s shirt.

“That’s what I’m doing.”

“Okay, then I want a bedtime story,” she grips Wendy’s shirt tighter, never budging. “It’ll make me _so_ much better.”

“It’s 4pm,” Wendy chuckles. “And you’re twenty-nine.”

Irene gasps. “D—do you hear that?” she presses herself closer to Wendy, her eyes darting to every corner of the room. 

“What?”

Irene looks at her straight in the eyes and says, “ _Death_. I can hear it calling me, Wendy.”

“ _Jesus Christ,_ fine,” Wendy rolls her eyes. This girl will be the end of her. Irene settles back on her bed and pulls the blanket up to her chin. Wendy continues, “Once upon a time, there was a young girl...with, uh, pet fi—”

“No!” Irene interrupts, she grabs Wendy’s arm and squeezes. “I want the story about the goddess of victory and her champion,” she says. 

Wendy frowns. “The _what?_ ” She scratches the back of her neck, exhaling slowly. “I don’t know that sto—do you have the book?”

“We don’t need the book,” Irene rolls her eyes. “Come on, Wendy. You _know_ the story. You’ve told it to me lots of times before, we practically _lived_ it. You—you can’t forget it,” She’s practically begging now, her eyes shiny and bright, and her knuckles white from gripping Wendy’s shirt too tightly. “ _Think_.”

The tension around the room is palpable, but Wendy doesn’t know if it’s because of her hidden feelings or because of how Irene is looking at her; maybe both. She sighs. “I really don’t—”

“Please?” Irene slides her hand across the bed to hold Wendy’s, intertwines their fingers and whispers, “ _For me?_ ”

Wendy stares at their interlaced fingers, and her mind is suddenly filled with images of tangled horses and wood, dirt mixed with blood and the enthusiastic faces of hundreds and thousands of strangers—images she doesn’t remember, but feels too much like a memory to ignore. She takes a deep breath and succumbs to the images in her mind. “Once upon a time…”

\---

A gust of wind blows against the three huddled goddesses, alerting them of their forgotten duties.

“I presume that whatever it is you’re engrossed with is worth the punishment Zeus will bestow upon you for missing his calls,” the source of the wind says as she floats above the goddesses, arms crossed and a tone reeking of superiority. Naike continues to look down on her sisters, daring them to disrespect her.

“It certainly is,” comes a sardonic reply from the tallest of the deities, Cratos, as she continues to give her attention to the scene in front of her.

The defiance intensifies the irritation of the winged goddess above. Luckily, one of her sisters tries to quell the tension by explaining, “This mortal has been trying to contain her horses for an eternity,” Zelus says, taking half a step to the side to show her sister what has captured their attention.

“An _eternity?_ ” Naike exclaims. “A mortal cannot live long enough to do something for even a _quarter_ of an eterni—”

“See for yourself,” Zelus gestures to the mirror in front of them. 

Naike gently lands herself to her sisters’ level and watches as the mirror reflects a frail looking mortal—a _slave_ , judging from her short hair and various markings across her limbs—negotiating with her horses. 

The mortal converses with her horses, brushing their manes before slowly tying them to her old, beat up chariot. This angers the horses, though, as some start to stand on their hind legs in order to get away, while the others kick the mortal in retaliation.

“She’s in her 79th try now. I’ve been counting,” Bia, the youngest of the goddesses, adds. 

The added commentary doesn’t penetrate through Naike’s thoughts, though, as she continues to watch the slave brush herself off and try again. The mortal decides to take a different approach now, distracting the horses with food before attaching the chains to them. She manages to succeed this time, but not for long because the moment she steps in the chariot and pulls the ropes, the horses go wild—running in opposite directions and kicking holes through her chariot. 

“Naike?” Cratos’ pompous tone disrupts Naike’s thoughts, taking her attention away from the slave. “Shall I remind you of the punishment Zeus will _bestow_ upon us for missing his calls?” 

Naike purses her lips and flies past the three amused-looking goddesses, “Your tone lacks respect, Cratos,” she sneers, hoping the edge in her tone takes the attention away from her reddening cheeks.

\---

“I have filled your stomach with free food for too long now, _slave_ ,” Deimus hisses, grabbing a fistful of the slave’s hair before pushing her hard, face down on the ground. He wraps the end of the whip tighter around his palm, raises his arm, and hits. 

_Crack._

“I expect to see results!” He exclaims, digging his heel down on the slave’s temple. The slave’s vision goes out of focus, before the lash of the whip comes back to burn her skin.

_Crack._

“I did not sacrifice tens of _thousands_ of drachmae for your _frailty_ to injure my horses before the competition!” 

_Crack._

_Crack._

_Crack._

After the fifth lash hits her back, the slave sees the whip fall down beside her, followed by a strong kick to her ribs. “Be afraid,” Deimus sneers, crouching down, his breath suffocating the slave’s senses. “For a fate _worse_ than this awaits your soul, _slave_. Only by giving me victory can it be saved.”

“Hades,” the slave bravely croaks out, “would be less cruel...than you,” she says as blood pours out of her mouth. She contemplates praying to the gods to take her out of her suffering now, to offer her own soul to Hades, but Deimus may not have the privilege of killing her.

“You insult the gods of your arrogance, you _insolent_ _swine_ ,” Deimus pulls her up by her hair, his eyes full of anger and—the slave sees it clear as day—he doesn’t wish for anything but to _hurt_ her. That is pure hatred in his eyes and it is _frightening_. “You won’t perish in that arena,” Deimus threatens, his cold voice sending chills throughout the slave’s body. “I’ll make sure you’ll serve your purpose...in one way or another.”

\---

“I’m glad you’ve been finding entertainment for yourself these past few days, Naike, but that slave is not as captivating as you think,” Her youngest sister, Bia, approaches her place in front of the mirror, her eyes full of judgement. 

“She’s being forced to enter the tethrippon by her owner,” Naike explains, hoping it is enough of a reason for her sister to stop pressing her, or at least move to a different conversation.

“Good. She will receive honor and prestige if she wins, death and freedom if she loses,” Bia crosses her arms. “I fail to see what’s troubling you.” 

Naike stares at the slave’s reflection in the mirror, watches as she horridly shoots an arrow for the 30th time. “I do not see a future where she will be victorious,” she sighs.

“I agree,” Bia answers flatly.

“But, I want her to,” Naike sighs. She starts moving away from her sister, burning away the sudden energy inside of her body. “Her owner is the most _cruel_ mortal I’ve _ever_ seen,” says the goddess as she moves back and forth silently, almost floating, across the quarters. “He gives her the whip _daily_ , Bia, no matter how small her mistake is, and he refuses to let her rest—even just to sit down—for _hours_.”

“As do several other slave owners,” Bia responds, unamused.

“The few times he feeds her is when his livestock could not finish their meal—he feeds her his livestock’s _leftovers_! It is the most disgusting behavior I have ever seen!” Naike finishes her monologue by floating back to her place in front of the mirror, her face significantly less pleasant than when they first started talking. 

“As do _several_ other slave owners, Naike,” Bia repeats, shaking her head. “And after the Games, dead or alive, she will finally be rid of him. So forgive me, but I am _still_ not seeing the point of your uncharacteristic outburst.”

“What _gods_ would we be if we just watch her end her tortured life in an arena full of merciless mortals akin to her owner?” The older of the two goddesses asks, losing patience. “Winning the competition would give her enough drachma to buy her freedom.” 

“And what if her owner won’t allow manumission?”

“He will,” Naike scowls. 

Bia stares at her sister, her rigid posture, the unyielding anger on her face, and laughs. “You’re not unwise enough to join the ranks of _weak-kneed_ gods who meddle in _silly_ earth affairs, are you?” 

When Naike refuses to answer, Bia rolls her eyes, and walks out of the room, but not before leaving a piercing, “You should spend less days with Zeus, dear sister.”

\---

The dust on the road mixes with the slave’s blood with her every step, as she’s led through the streets of Oenoe—chained and pulled by her Master’s chariot. She wishes she never stopped the horses from destroying the wretched thing. 

“This is how you control your horses, _slave!_ You should be grateful I am generous enough to teach you,” Deimus hollers from his chariot, drawing more attention to them. Through the harsh glare of the sun, the slave sees the varying looks the passersby are giving her. Most of them snarling, disgusted, while some have the audacity to show pity, as if they’re not on similar levels, or even _worse_ than her Master. 

As they near the end of their fifth lap around the town, a lumbering man started to walk beside Deimus’ chariot, his cloudy eyes leering at the slave’s body.

“Oi!” The man shouts. “How much for her?”

Without missing a beat, Deimus answers, “She’s _my_ slave. She is not for sale.”

The man, unfazed, continues to move with Deimus’ chariot, his body swaying with his every step. He’s drunk, the slave decides. “Why parade her then? What self-respecting man prances his _harlot_ to entice other men?”

“I am training her for the Games,” says Deimus.

“The _Games_?” The man laughs. “You’d guarantee yourself easier drachmas by putting her in a brothel!” 

Deimus stops. He pulls the horse’s bridle and gives the drunk man his full attention. The man smiles, pleased, and continues.

“You could easily make a thousand a patron with this one.” He walks over to the slave, trails his dirty fingers all over the slave’s face. “I know I’d pay that much,” he says, his breath smelling of wine and hunger.

The slave can feel her heart beating wildly, _terrified_ , for she knows Deimus is considering this man’s offer. She decides that if she’s advancing to the zenith of hell, she will be sure she deserved it. “If your craving for a whore is so _severe_ then go back to your _mother_ ,” she replies, spitting at the drunk man. 

The man’s face crumples, harsh lines slowly appearing on his face, then, a flurry of movement passes and the sound of skin hitting skin was heard, followed by the slave falling on her knees. The drunk man wasn’t finished though, as he raises his leg and digs his heel on the slave’s nape. 

“Oi!,” Deimus shouts. He throws several obols on the ground. “Go buy yourself a tankard and leave my slave be.” He lashes his whip and the horses run, dragging the slave by her chained wrists, her front scrubbing against the ground. She tries to get a foothold, her legs pushing against the ground to help herself stand up, but the horses are running too fast, her whole body is aching, and it has been days since she ate, so she loses her balance and falls forward.

But her body never hits the ground.

“Run faster than your arrogant mouth, slave,” Deimus shouts.

But his voice falls on deaf ears as the slave stares at the ground passing by from under her, baffled at how not a sliver of her skin is grazing it. She’s flying, almost, not so much to draw attention, but just enough to not worsen the already existing cuts on the front of her body. 

The chariot stops, and the slave’s body gently falls to the ground before Deimus can see anything. He looks at her, snarls, and leaves the slave on the ground, still chained to the chariot.

Up above, the goddess watches over the slave, and with a flick of her wrist, the chains on the slave’s wrists loosens. 

\---

The slave, Naike realizes, is the most incapable mortal she has ever seen. That wouldn’t be a problem if she also wasn’t the most _ungrateful_ mortal she has ever seen.

Naike has done everything she can to help the slave in the most undetectable ways possible—asking Artemis to tame her horses so the slave can finally stand on the chariot, giving the slave just enough strength to control her horses while riding, even coming to the slave’s dreams to teach her how to chariot properly—yet the slave says her thanks by cursing the gods and whining about her ‘ _terrible_ _fate_.’

“Well, she seems...amiable,” the voice behind her makes Naike jump. “Your sisters informed me that you’re favoring a slave that will enter the Games,” the voice continues, “The goddess of victory having a certain... _liking_ for a participant that is doomed to fail,” he chuckles, his eyes fixated on the slave’s reflection in the mirror. “The mortals are right, we are just as flawed as they are. I will say, Ares will not be the happiest to he—”

“I just want her to escape her owner,” Naike explains.

“That’s what I tell myself, too.” He shakes his head, his tone suddenly serious, “You can’t interfere with the Games, Naike.”

“I won’t cause a war over a _slave_ , Zeus. I believe I’m astute enough for what you’re insinuating,” Naike snaps. She focuses her attention back to the reflection in the mirror and does her best to ignore the disapproving look directed her way. 

\---

Naike is true to her word: she will _not_ do something as idiotic as interfering with the Games just to help a slave. She is above the ranks of gods who break their backs over the approval of mortals, for she believes it should be the opposite—mortals should be the ones who are ready to sing endless praises just for a chance to be heard by the gods. 

She is true to her word, and going down _just_ to meet with the slave is, if you look at it, _not_ considered as _interfering_ with the Games.

“My Master’s not here,” the slave says, her back turned to the goddess. She’s transferring small barrels of water on a large cask, Naike resists the urge to help. “If you really want to see him, go find Hades,” she chuckles. 

Naike clears her throat. “I came to see you,” she takes a step forward. “ _Seungwan_ , is it?”

The slave stops. She faces Naike, her expression hard. “ _How_ did y—who are _you?_ ”

“My name is...Joohyun,” Naike says. “I heard you’re entering the tethrippon. I’m here to train you.”


	2. ares

  
  


There was a beat, then Seungwan looked livid. “I’m a  _ slave _ ,” she seethes. “Don’t you think I would have  _ bought  _ my freedom if I had spare coins to pay for a trainer?”

“I do not require payment,” Naike clarifies. “Though perhaps I would ask you to use the manners I know you were taught when addressing me.” She tests her luck by taking a step closer to the slave, a threatening glare was the response she received. 

Naike, unfazed, continues, “I see potential and I want to help you win the games, attain manumission, and what is it they tell? Live happily ever after?”

“No,” the slave goes back to her task, completely ignoring the irritated look on the goddess’ face.

“ _ No? _ ” Naike exclaims. “I am giving you my services fo—”

“No,” the slaves repeats, startling the goddess by slamming the last of the water barrels on the ground. “Find someone else.”

“May I ask why?” the goddess asks. “Why are you refusing my help?”

“No one gives a favor without expecting anything back,” Seungwan says flatly. “No one  _ especially _ gives favor to a slave.” 

“That is an awful worldview.”

The slave jeers. “I cannot afford anything better, can I?”

The response rendered Naike into silence. But the goddess refuses to yield to a mortal, much less a  _ slave _ , so she retaliates by saying, “I was hoping you would have some positivity left from your old life,  _ Princess _ .”

“Leave,” Seungwan practically growled. “Or I will tell everyone that you are trying to steal me from my Master.” 

“ _ What? _ ”

“Do you want a public execution?” Seungwan threatens.

Naike snorts. How ignorant of this mortal to think that she can be swayed by silly forms of mortal punishment. “Next time your Master uses the whip on you, which I can guess will be the next time you see him, think about what I offered.” 

\---

The goddess’ grouchy demeanor stayed until her return to Olympus, further worsening as she watches Seungwan be punished by her Master. 

“She’s a fool,” she barks, watching as the ninth lash hits Seungwan’s back. “Ungrateful mortals who refuse to listen to what they are told  _ deserves _ their punishment!”

Zelus, who has been observing her sister since she arrived, looks at Naike with a smile, her eyes almost disappearing behind her cheeks. “And yet your eyes are full of concern,” she notes.

“I—” But words failed the winged goddess then, all thoughts left her. Naike opens and closes her mouth before huffing, “I refuse to waste my time listening to your lies,” she frowns, turning her body away from her sister.

Cratos sighs, notifying Naike and Zelus of her presence. “And I refuse to waste my time watching your god awful  _ act _ ,” she says. She walks around the room, purposeful, commanding her sisters’ attention. “It is unmistakable that you are fond of the mortal, Naike, in the same way that it is unmistakable that you are unable to properly converse with her. Now, if you ask me—which you  _ should _ —I know that mortals like her will never listen to  _ arrogant _ goddesses like you.”

Zelus frowns. “That is not t—” 

Cratos ignores her. “Bearing a mortal name will not get you anywhere if your actions still reek of Olympus, sister, for selfish mortals only respect their kind.”

“And how are you so certain?” Naike asks.

Cratos stops her pace and looks directly at her sister. “After being subjected to Zeus’ stories of his countless women, one starts to pick up a few lessons.”

\---

“My answer has not changed,” Seungwan hissed gripping a fallen tree branch like a weapon, threatening Naike with it. “So I suggest you leave before my Master sees you.”

“Oh, a moria branch. How frightening. Spare my life, I beg of you,” mocks the goddess as she stands up from where she was hiding from behind the barrels. “But I am glad that, unlike the rest of your body, your sight is capable,” she mutters. “I believe I was very good at hiding behind those barrels, not even your livestock noticed me.”

Seungwan did not look impressed. “Stepping on my Master’s property without him knowing is punishable,” she drops the branch slowly on the ground, careful not to make any sound. “I promise you, if I see you again, it will be your last moments with your head attached to your neck,” the slave warns. “ _ Leave _ .” She gives a last look at the goddess before turning on her heel and walking back inside.

Naike scrambles towards Seungwan’s retreating form. “Wait!” she exclaims, grabbing her by the wrist.

“Be quiet!” Seungwan whispers, violently withdrawing her hand away from Naike’s grip.

“I—I intend to train you for I,” the goddess takes a deep breath, reminding herself of her sisters’ words. “I want _glory_. I want a reputation of having the best, strongest champions. I want to be respecte—no, I want to be feared as a... _mortal_ _woman_ ,” she says, almost cringing at herself. “And for that, I cannot use a male champion.”

Seungwan narrows her eyes. “Why choose a slave, then?” 

“I...may have lied about not needing payment,” Naike lies. “I, uh, I know that a slave will be...desperate enough for any drachma that you will not fight me if I—if I get half of your winnings.”

“ _Half?_ ” Seungwan asks, her tone increasing a few octaves. “You promised me manumission—” she takes a step closer, “You spoke of _my_ _freedom_ yet you will take _half?_ ” The slave is looking at Naike dead in the eyes, pure anger behind them. 

Naike gulps. “This is why I plan for you to join each event on the first day of the Games—not just the tethrippon,” she explains, taking a step back. “I will be a trustworthy trainer for I am skilled in every event,” she smiles, hoping to convince the slave of her charm. The gods have always mentioned that her smile is very alluring.

“Yes,  _ that’s _ believable,” Seungwan scoffs. She turns around and continues to depart from the goddess. Naike’s charm does not work on mortals it seems like.

“You are forgetting that I am the only one you have,” Naike says, glaring at the slave. She is losing patience, a mortal should not have this power over her, and she can feel her siblings watching, laughing at her. “You either bet on me, or die serving an imbecile.”

Seungwan stops. She looks at Naike, a hard expression on her face. “My Master will never agree to it,” she says, almost whispering. 

“ _ Oh _ ,” Naike winces. She completely forgot about requiring the horrid mortal’s permission. “Perhaps I could ta—”

“So we can only train at the clearing a few metres from here and only when he is out or asleep.”

“Alright,” Naike smiles. That is amenable. “Good.”

\---

If you ask Seungwan, training with Joohyun—to put it plainly—is  _ worse _ than diving face first into the crack of Hades’ ass.

The burning sensation in her lungs has increased upwards to her throat whenever she breathes, her muscles are as heavy and as stiff as metal, and the ringing in her ears is deafening, heightened by the noise of Joohyun’s commands.

She knows her movements are sluggish, but she has never really eaten since being captured, and her shoulders are burning from the blisters that Deimus’ lashes left, so Seungwan believes that she is, at the very least, allowed to be sluggish.

But based on the disgusted look in Joohyun’s face, she disagrees.

“You,” Seungwan pants once she was finally allowed to rest. “Are vile.” 

“And your running is pathetic,” Joohyun replies. “So I am as unsatisfied as you are,” she says, throwing Seungwan a loaf of bread.

“What’s that?” the slave asks, staring warily at the food beside her.

The goddess shrugs. “A favor.”

\---

Naike watches on as the unkempt man downs his seventh glass of beer, releasing a belch as if he had a bean in his throat. He laughs, shouts nonsense at the kapeleia owner, who endures the man’s atrocities because he pays even if it is as clear as a virgin lake that the owner wants nothing more than to lay a punch square on the man’s nose.

Naike flicks her wrist, and the man’s empty tankard suddenly fills with beer.

“I agree that men are flawed beings who make entirely too many mistakes, Naike,” a voice rasped from behind Naike. She turns around and sees her sister, Bia,watching the mirror in front of them. “But is it necessary to drown them in alcohol? They welcome it, of course, but they never really stray away from peril, do they?”

“Seungwan needs some time,” Naike explains. “She has not tended to the livestock nor cleaned the house yet because our training ended later than usual.”

“ _ Seungwan? _ ” Bia asks. “The slave? May I ask, did you learn her whole—”

“Only her name,” interrupted Naike. “I learned  _ nothing _ but her name and the reason for her capture, the rest I learned through conversations with her. I do not appreciate your judgement, Bia,” Naike says, her tone stern.

“I just want you to be careful,” her youngest sister sighed, stepping out of the room.

\---

As the sun starts to disappear below the horizon, Seungwan’s groans of both pain and annoyance increases. Naike, settled on the branch of a tree, watches her in amusement. It does not matter how many times she trains with the slave, it is always entertaining to watch.

“How foul that the sun can rest before I,” Seungwan grumbles as her heel digs deeper and deeper in the ground each step she takes. “How lucky is the sun for she is never burdened with a  _ sinister _ woman who is skilled in bringing the wrath of the underworld in her life for weeks?”

Naike rolls her eyes. The slave is incorrect, the sun does have someone who has the essence of the underworld within her. Naike would know...those are her parents. “You will insult me  _ now _ when you are on your last lap?” 

The slave finishes her lap, and immediately relieves herself of the heavy weight on her back. “I will insult you even when you are not making me run with rocks on my back!” 

“Rest,” Naike says. “I was informed by my associates at the kapeleia that your Master will return at midnight again. You have enough time to eat so I beg you to refrain from eating like a hog.” 

A lie, of course, Naike would never associate with those men, but in this particular situation, the shame of being thought of as a regular in the kapeleia is...more favorable than admitting her true method of keeping the slave’s Master out of the house. 

“Between the two of us, I am not the one who has close ties with the barbarians in the kapeleia,” Seungwan ungracefully drops her body on the ground, laying on her back. “And acquainting with those drunkards is more manifesting of a hog behavior than expertly eating at breakneck speed.” 

“If only your wit with battle is as sharp as your wit with insults,” Naike sighs, throwing a loaf of bread onto Seungwan’s stomach. 

“What’s this?” Seungwan teases, smiling at Naike. It has become somewhat of a tradition now, Seungwan asking that question whenever Naike gives her food.

And as always, “A favor,” Naike replies. 

Seungwan’s smile gets wider, showing her teeth. The warm hue of the descending sun kisses Seungwan’s features perfectly, Naike notes. She is beautiful,  _ well _ , for a  _ mortal _ . 

“Have you forgotten how to speak?”

Naike blinks. “What?”

“Oh, so you have not,” Seungwan raises half of her body up off the ground, settling on her elbows. “Explain to me then why you have been staring at me as if you were fantasizing of eating me alive. Was I sluggish again?”

“Y—You were,” Naike stammers, redirecting her vision on the clouds above. “It comforts me that you know how slow your improvement is,” she mutters, feeling her cheeks get warm. 

Silence settles between the two, the goddess mindful of not letting her eyes stray towards the slave. She is rarely successful though. 

Suddenly, an idea appears in Naike’s head. “So, I heard the Artemis festival is near, will you partake in the ceremonies?” she asks. 

“I do not think so.”

Naike hums. “I think I will. Mortal events for the gods have always looked interesting. And since she is the only one that is truly decent enough in Olympus, it is the least I could do for her for helping keep me sane in all my days,” said the goddess.

Seungwan stares at Naike, her eyes filling with mirth. “Why do you talk as if you know her personally?”

“No, no, how can a  _ mortal _ like myself know the  _ goddess _ Artemis personally?” Naike chuckles, nervously rubbing her elbow. “You talk nonsense, Seungwan. I—I simply meant that I think she is the most agreeable god, don't you think?”

“Uh, I don’t know. They are all the same to me,” Seungwan shrugs. She looks at the sky above, the look on her face suddenly unpleasant. “It has been a long while since I prayed to any god. I do not even remember it.”

Naike gasps. “What?” She jumps down from her place on the tree and walks straight to Seungwan’s position, settling down beside her. “Did I hear you correctly? Tell me I am mistaken because t—that is—”

“The result of being left to be tortured and abused,” Seungwan chuckles, though the pain in her eyes never lessened. “Why would I pray to someone who has always had the power to prevent this, but did not?”

The goddess sits up straight. “That’s…a fair point.” She can feel something unusual spreading across her chest. Is it guilt? Hopelessness? No matter what its name is, it is suffocating her. This mortal, everything she does looms over Naike—everything is important, everything compels Naike to help. The goddess hates it.

“If anything, I am just waiting for Hades to put me out of my misery and take me in,” Seungwan shrugs.

“Oh, do not be silly,” Naike shakes the heavy feeling in her chest. “Hades does not care for human affairs, does not even care about his brothers. All he cares about is his wife.”

Seungwan shakes her head, a rare genuine smile spreading across her face. “If you say so, Joohyun,” she chuckles.

\---

It is dark and quiet by the time she returns. Shrouded in darkness, Naike watches the fire in the Pantheon burn, staring at the joyous faces of the gods and the overflowing goblet of ambrosia in their fists. It’s a celebration, similar to the one the day before and the one tomorrow. Seungwan was right, the goddess thinks, gods do not care for the suffering of mortals—not when it doesn’t concern them.

“Infuriating, aren’t they?” 

Naike turns around and sees a burly figure lurking at the entrance of her room. Illuminated only by moonlight, the form’s gold armor and headdress  are the few things visible to the goddess.

“The _imperceptive_ _callousness_ behind their smiles,” the figure sneers, his gravelly voice lengthening each syllable. “The legend they tried so hard to _feed_ down the throats of mortals is still an image they cannot attain. _Heartbreaking_ , really.”

“I do not recall inviting you in, Ares,” Naike says. “And may I say, it is unwise to insult your own kind.”

“They are  _ not _ my kind!” shouts Ares as he marches towards Naike, his eyes flashing with anger. He straightens his posture, takes a deep breath, and the bitter expression is replaced with a calm, almost charming demeanor. Naike feels her skin crawl. 

“You and I, we are different from them,” Ares explains. “We  _ care _ for the mortals. Their hopes, their dreams—these are what  _ we _ consider important.”

It is laughable, the goddess thinks, how much Ares is belittling her right now. As if a god of her class can be swayed by his petty manipulation. 

“You create war, Ares. You  _ thrive _ on it,” Naike jeers. “Helping the mortals to succeed in their greed and bloodlust is  _ hardly _ caring.” 

“I did not come here to quarrel,” Ares smiles, lacking warmth and sincerity. “I came here to ask for a favor.”

“Then you are spoiling both of our nights for I will partake in no agreements with you, Ares.”

“ _ Ah _ , but I thought you  _ cared _ for the mortals, Naike?” Ares laughs. “Your slave champion...she’s  _ weak _ .”

“And my disinterest is  _ only _ increasing.”

“I understand your fondness for the mortal, I do,” Ares continues, ignoring Naike. “But it cannot prevent her death in that Arena. I am sure you know that the other champions are ruthless, but this year....I foresee your champion’s corpse hitting the ground as the last  _ slay _ .”

_ The last slay _ . Naike digs her nails down her skin. Though Ares’ predictions are almost never wrong, lying is also a hobby of his. But Seungwan...her life should not be something Naike is willing to risk. If Ares’ prediction is true, then Seungwan should withdraw. Yet, looking at Ares’ actions, that is exactly what he wants.

“Imagine the  _ agony _ , Naike. Your champion  _ mere _ moments away to a better life full of glory and riches, then  _ losing _ to the last competitor _ —my champion— _ in her way.  _ Losing _ by  _ deat—” _

“If her death is what you predict then why choose to go here and scare me? Should you not celebrate instead for my loss?”

“Oh, I did not come here to _scare_ you, Naike,” Ares’ tone reeks of false empathy. “I would say _‘to warn’_ may be...a better word.”

“To  _ threaten _ ?”

“Let us just say that I have also grown…fondness for your champion. I only want her to live a long fulfilling life,” he smiles. “Which is why I am offering you my champion’s winnings—in  _ full _ —in exchange for the withdrawal of your champion in the Games—”

“Is that all?” Naike asks for it sounds too good to not be something she will regret.

“ _ In addition _ to your support and endorsement of my champion,” Ares shrugs. “You have always endorsed Zeus, I know, but he is the worst of them—he isn’t like us. And I  _ need _ the goddess of victory on my side, you see. So what is a measly favor in exchange for your champion’s better future?” 

_ Ah, there it is, _ the goddess thinks. The only truth in this conversation is Ares’ infatuation with chaos and winning. 

“You will get nothing,” Naike decides. “I made the mistake of letting you waste my time, but that will be my last mistake for tonight.”

Ares clenches his fist, yet his stiff smile still shines bright in front of Naike. “I can assure you,” the god chuckles as he walks away from the goddess. “Denying me is the genesis of your undoing.”

\---

Wendy stares at Irene’s sleeping form, a weird sense of foreboding looming over her. She finished the bedtime story an hour ago, yet the room still feels colder, quieter, though maybe it’s only Irene’s sickness infecting her. Shaking it off, she cleans the discarded paper towels around Irene’s room before laying down, and falling asleep beside her best friend.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


End file.
